Four poems of NICOLETA CRĂETE

18 July 2019
Author :  

NICOLETA CRĂETE

Born on 11th September, 1980, in a small town from Romania, Motru, She has won numerous prizes, mainly for poetry, among which: 1st prize in the poetry section and the festival trophy at the Literature Festival Moştenirea Văcăreştilor in Târgovişte, 2nd prize at the Poetry Festival Costache Conachi in Tecuci, the special prize at the Poetry Competition in Craiova, Tradem, Horia Vintilă prize for prose at the International Competition Vis de toamnă in Urziceni, 1st prize at the Poetry Competition Tudor Arghezi in Tg.-Jiu, in the section Bilete de Papagal, 3rd prize at the National Literary Competition Avangarda XXII in Bacău, so on.

Her debut volume, “The woman with a body of wax”, appeared in February 2019, at the Grinta Publishing House, Cluj, in the collection Poezia 9, as a prize in the manuscript section of the International Poetry Festival from Sighetu Marmației.

Her poems have been translated into English, Czech, Spanish, French, Arabic.

She has also taken part in many literary events and festivals, across the country and abroad, among which, the literary tour in Prague and Modra, in December 2018.

She is also a translator,

 

 

overturned dream

 

love is a scaffold where we sleep

whereas our sleep has a sight towards birds

 

don’t make yourself a cradle from a watered woman’s hair

a bird has built a nest in it

so it could die

 

you are to plant it the next day

and you will know

that you know nothing that you know

while reading on the bodies with your blinded hands

 

all you are left with is to tie the trees face down

so that the earth should mirror them when calling you

with a strange name

 

open poem

 

I closed

 

the doors windows waters gases lights cars walls houses days nights dreams wounds pits streets errors schools hospitals diseases factories churches governments planets frustrations anguishes phobias shades zippers words

so that I could laugh by myself

 

I took a man at random

from laughter did I take him

and threw him to the world

so that he should find out

that the evil there is

it’s not exactly

how it is

 

 

the last religion

 

in my pulse

a wild animal makes knots and yells

where else to go

at the end of man nothingness

no longer asks for bread

 

they told me that my pain is wrong

but I

looked horror in the eye and found its g-spot

 

the world is the tip of a knife

in which I throw myself

the price for one more last illusion

 

I know I am

 

each time at the other end

where I am

 

the light

pulls my strings when I talk

 

I lower a content

inside the worm from the core of the thing

 

a sad and fear- tainted god

knocks shortly

I hold his hand around

as if he were a child

 

three tiny shadows

commit a suicide

on the bad nails

you

 

tell me tales

 

 

(translated into English by NICOLETA CRĂETE)

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